Some quotes from this week's Cthulhu session, The Crawford Inheritance from Escape From Innsmouth , but first one I neglected to include from last weeks sadly sub-par Edge City 3D collection. ( We didn't even play our version of Game of Life in it's stead - darn, I was lookng forward to the Back To The Future, and Martian War Machines rules...)
We had arrived at the Gamer's Guild and almost immediately my wife and Barbara vdB starting talking about wool supplies.
Barbara vdB : "I've never seen balls that big"
Everybody :
*long pause*
Purrdence ( Lucy's player ) :
*starts to snigger* 
Me :
*counts to ten* "Two minutes. We're here for
two minutes...
I haven't decided whether 'Always On' is an Advantage or Disadvantage on Purrdence's Smut Field.
The absence of the group's other elemental smut-being this week may or may not affect the game - the two together has a notably synergistic effect, but I fear Purrdence just stepped up the innuendo-power to compensate.
We play Chez Geek whilst we wait for players to turn up.
Me : *reading the 'Gaming Nookie' text* " 'Hey baby, want to see my miniatures?' "
Purrdence: "Isn't that a line you used on me?"
Me : *plays a fourth cat card*
Purrdence: He likes pussy *leers*
Me : smugly Indeed I do *plays next card - 'Nookie Monster'*
Anyway - the PCs continue to nibble away at the edges of my campaign's central horror - at its penumbra, as it were - but I'm still ensuring enough unrelated nightmares to keep them off balance. I'm also throwing in plenty of minor incidents in between sessions of play - minor incidents that will no doubt come back to bite them on the arse when they put two and two together. Purrdence is getting very suspicious about the way I grin broadly and giggle to myself when I think about up-coming sessions.
Me, GM : "[Alexei's player] can't make it this week, alas."
Lucy, OOC : "Darn, I'll have to get my booze elsewhere."
We're missing Dr Elliot's player too - he's been incapacitated by an unliving hybrid, monster - i.e. A flu virus.
The new P.I. never showed, either - perhaps he was got by a dimensional shambler.
On the other tentacle, we have another new player - my brother, a gamer of such masterful bastardry he has his own Livejournal tag ( you may have heard of some of his previous exploits, such as the Wimbledragon Tennis Open, Breeding Mimics for Fun & Profit, and the spell Mass Chicken). He also came to my wedding dressed as a Ringwraith. In the Cthulhu campaign he's playing an ex-army sapper, who now drives trucks and does quarrywork, operates steamshovels and the like, for a living. Sure, this gives the party access to explosives, but I'll be filing that under "Rope, Sufficiency Thereof"
GM, Me : "You lost half a hand in the Great War, when one of your subordinates did something stupid with a satchel charge. Of course the subordinate lost half his head, but that's OK - he clearly wasn't using it."
He's been hired to drive the truck the party will be using to remove the warehouse contents and furnishings that Lucy's mother has apparently inherited in the shunned town of Innsmouth. Only the three PCs... But what could possibly go wrong? BWAHAHAHAHA
There was some initial confusion - Ian thought the campaign was set in Old England.
Me, GM : "But you're not in Ireland anymore - you moved to America after the GREAT War - specifically, Arkham.
Paddy McGinty's player : "Oh God."
Sydney Delthorn, Scholar, OOC : "There is no god here - only Cthulhu"
I describe the decaying town in some detail - the encroaching salt marsh, the abandoned farms swallowed by wind-blown sand, the town itself, half it's buildings empty and collapsing in ruin.
Paddy McGinty : "Oh look, a slanty shanty."
An Innsmouth local helpfully giving directions : "Across the river and take the first left. Hancock street will be on your right."
McGinty's Player to me, suspiciously "The bridge is still standing, isn't it?"
Ian is playing McGinty as a cheerfully underhanded, argumentative drunk. All of it in the correct accent, too. I just wish someone had recorded more of his glowing report on Innsmouth to mob boss Dan O'Bannion.
Paddy McGinty : "I'm in this little place called Innsmouth, have ye heard of it? Beautiful little place - three police in the whole town, empty warehouses all along the water there " etc.
Innsmouth Police : "Where'd you git that axe?"
Paddy McGinty : "From that shed right over there, ya see"
Innsmouth Police : Then you're all under arrest for breaking and entering
Paddy McGinty : Ah, but the shed's already falling down, ya see - no breaking anything to get in. So technically, that'd be 'entering with intent'.
Me, GM : "...And the kitchen with the old upright stove that you're in."
Lucy Smith's Player : "He's in the stove?"
Me, GM : "The kitchen - he's in the kitchen"
The Esoteric Order of Dagon gets it's first mention, and three of us spontaneously burst into song.
"Daaaaagon. Da-aa-aa-gon...
Dagon's coming and me wanna go home.
DAY-aa-aa-aa-aa-aaaaa-gon...
Dagon's coming and me wanna go home.
Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot TEETH
Dagon's coming and me wanna go home.
No Mister Preacher-man, I am not bananas,
Dagon's coming and me wanna go home. "
Harry Belafonte is spinning in his grave
And now that we've got an argumentative Irish Protestant in a party that already had a Roman Orthodox, a Unitarian, a lapsed Catholic, and so on, we can expect more appallingly in-character arguments about religion as we got today
Lucy Smith : "But I haven't been to church in ages!"
Paddy McGinty : "So, you're not only a dirty catholic heathen...
Me, GM : "...they aren't even a good dirty catholic heathen."
Sydney Delthorn, ( Unitarian ) meekly resigning himself to mediate : "I guess I'll be baking some cookies then."
Paddy McGinty regarding deceased npc: She's gone to a better place... If she was Protestant.
My wife hasn't read much Lovecraft - so she's unaware of the history of Innsmouth and the biology of the Deep Ones. As such, she as yet has no idea why this line, about one Ralsa Marsh, great-grandson of Obed, reduced me to hysterics.
Lucy Smith : *sniffs* Men like that never change.
McGinty, as part of his repairs to the house Lucy's mother has inherited, has declared war on the raccoon the PCs have assumed lives in the attic. This includes getting caught in his own improvised fish-hook lined raccoon-trap, setting off fireworks at 3 in the morning, and making home-made grenades from glass bottles stuffed with blackpowder and rusty nails.
The other player-characters are getting slightly annoyed with the explosions and gunfire late at night, and want to know why he's so enthusiastic with "His little bang-bangs"
Me, GM : It's his wild Celtic spirit that loves to blow things up ... Just ask the IRA.
Continued next fortnight, when the PCs figure out it isn't a raccoon and go running for help.
And overheard from another table
Hagadorn: *after blowing both legs and an arm off a vampire* "And now I'm splashing holy water on the stumps. 'The power of Christ compels you - bitch' "
Originally Posted by input.jack
Your interpretation is far kinder than the original lyrics
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much joy at the Middle Earth D20 game...
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